


And The Ships Are Left To Rust

by noos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, I love Thomas more than Mario loves pretzels, Jurgen Klopp (ment'd), M/M, Marco's sad, Mario's sad, Various Bayern Munich and BVB players mentioned, i'M SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario's breath catches in his throat, his lungs aching and his heart hammering in his chest. This can't be happening. Klopp and Dortmund can't do without one another. They're synonymous in his mind, just like Thomas and laughter. Just like Marco and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Ships Are Left To Rust

**Author's Note:**

> Klopp is leaving. I'm upset. Angst ensues.
> 
> Still don't own these people *sigh*
> 
> Title from the Florence + The Machine song.

They're sitting in the lobby of their hotel in Porto when Mario gets the news. 

 

He and his teammates are still trying to recover from their disaster against the home team when Lewy gets a call, and when he clicks his phone shut after he's done he looks like someone's died. 

 

"Lewy," Philip says from his seat next to Jerôme. "Are you okay?"

 

"Klopp just announced he's leaving Dortmund at the end of the season."

 

He turns to look at Mario even as he says the words, his voice barely audible, a blank look shrouding his features.

 

Mario doesn't really register any of it, too lost in his own world as he presses an icepack to his sore thigh, vaguely aware that this should mean something to him, but he's upset and exhausted and frankly in too much pain to care about anything right now.

 

"What?" Thomas nearly screams from his seat next to Mario. "As in Jürgen Klopp? Leaving BVB?"

 

That certainly grabs Mario's attention and he momentarily freezes, praying he's heard it all wrong, that Thomas did not just say what he thought he heard. He finally looks up at Lewy, and the look in his eyes in the only confirmation he needs.

 

"Dortmund released a statement about that," Manu whispers as he types furiously into his phone. "They say they're very sorry to see him go."

 

Mario's breath catches in his throat, his lungs aching and his heart hammering in his chest. This can't be happening. Klopp and Dortmund can't do without one another. They're synonymous in his mind, just like Thomas and laughter. Just like Marco and love. He feels his throat close up at that last one. It's been over eight months since they've officially gone their separate ways and still he can't think of Marco as anything other than love.

 

"This..." Thomas fumbles next to Mario, a look of dejection shrouding his features. "This sucks."

 

For a second, Mario marvels at his teammates, at how truly sad they seem at the news. But then he shakes his head because of course they're pissed off. Dortmund might be their arch-nemesis or whatever but that doesn't mean they're not going to feel bad for them. Klopp is one of the most respected and loved coaches in the Bundesliga, and besides, a lot of the BVB players are their teammates when in the right colors, not to mention their friends.

 

He sets his icepack on the coffee table to his right before pulling himself off the couch with some difficulty. His thigh hurts more than he wants to admit but he needs to get out. It's too stuffy in here and he can feel the prickle of something in his eye. He really does not want to cry in front of his teammates. 

 

"I'm just gonna..." He croaks, his voice breaking slightly before he clears his throat and points vaguely in the direction of the entrance.

 

Thomas looks up at him for a second, more worried than Mario would ever want him to be, but then he nods at him and Mario limps his way outside the hotel. 

 

The air is warm enough when he steps outside, but there's a slight breeze and Mario shudders despite himself, completely aware it has nothing to do with the actual temperature and everything to do with the thought of the man with the warm smile leaving home. Because despite everything, Dortmund is still home in a way Munich could never be.

 

He takes a few steps onto the sidewalk, leans against the wall a few feet from the entrance to relieve the pain. 

 

He thinks about Kloppo, about all the times he yelled at him for messing around too much in training, all the times he picked the pieces up for him when he was falling apart, all the times he wrapped his arms around him very much like a proud father would a son. He thinks about just last week, Klopp ribbing him good-naturedly as he got booed by the home crowd once again. 

 

His eyes sting against the night air, his body shivering slightly and his chest aching. He closes his eyes to keep his feelings at bay, fishes his work phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. He dials the number he knows by heart before he can think about it anymore. By heart. His heart is the only organ that's always in command when it comes to _him._

 

It dawns on him that it must be very late in Dortmund, that he might be sleeping the news off. Or, and Mario feels a tightening in his chest at this particular thought, he might be finding comfort in another set of arms. After all, he's got every right to.

 

Mario's about to end the call when he hears the tell-tale click of a call being picked up and it's too late.

 

"Hello?" Marco's voice is heard through the phone and Mario stops breathing. It's been too long since he's heard it, too long he's called him. Eight months and twenty two days but he's not counting. "Hello? Who's this?" Marco asks when he's only met with silence.

 

"Um," Mario stutters finally finding his voice. "Hey Marco. It's me. Mario."

 

He's never felt the gap between them more than in this moment right here, physical or otherwise. There was a time when Mario only had to breath for Marco to find him. A time when they were so attuned to each other they didn't even need to ask to know.

 

_It's your own damn fault it's over._

 

He hates that voice in his head, wants to bang his head against the wall until it goes quiet.

 

Marco's silent of the other end of the line, but Mario can hear him gasp slightly into the phone, and it hurts more than he'd thought possible. 

 

"You changed your number?" Is the first thing Marco asks and Mario looks at the ground, barely able to keep it together. 

 

"No, I-" he fumbles for a second, trying to keep his voice from shivering. He takes a deep breath before he tries again. "This is my work number. I got it recently and I knew you wouldn't answer if I called from my other number."

 

"So why'd you call then if you knew I wouldn't want to talk to you?" 

 

Mario shouldn't expect anything else. They're over. They've been over for a long time, for god's sake. It still hurts though, to hear Marco shut him out so completely.

 

"I'm sorry about Kloppo," he says, ignoring Marco's question.

 

"I've gotten used to the people I care about walking out on me."

 

"Marco..." Mario murmurs into the phone but he's interrupted before he can say anything.

 

"By the time Mats leaves I'll be so fucking used to it that I probably won't even drive him to the airport."

 

"Wait, Mats has made his decision?" Mario asks, getting sidetracked for a minute.

 

"Not yet. But I've known Mats long enough to know his plans before even he knows them. I'm losing another one to a red team next year."

 

They're both silent for a moment, Marco's words heavy and loud between them.

 

"Look, what do you want, Mario? I've had a crap night and you haven't called in over eight months and I don't really feel like talking to you right now."

 

"You're right." Mario nods even if he's aware Marco can't see him. He swallows around the lump in his throat, tries to get his breath to even out and the tear that just rolled down his cheek out of his voice. "I just... I thought- I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry." 

 

"Yeah, you shouldn't have," Marco agrees and Mario feels so tired all of a sudden, slumped against a wall on the street in the middle of the night, his leg throbbing and his chest aching.

 

The line goes silent for a second before the dial tone rings in Mario's ear. He lowers his phone slowly, trying not to break down. He shouldn't have expected anything else. 

 

He stands there for some time, staring at nothing but the cars speeding by, his tears drying on his face and the night breeze his only companion. He's about to call it a night and head inside when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Not the one he's holding in his hand, but the other one, his private number, the one only a few are privy to. He reaches out into his pocket and pulls it out, his heart leaping out of his chest when he sees Marco's picture lighting up the screen. His fingers are shaking but he manages to slide his digit across the screen with some difficulty before he puts the phone to his ear. He doesn't say anything, his throat closing up and his heart beating painfully inside his chest.

 

"I'm sorry about before," Marco's voice comes through the device, low and true and Mario misses him so damn much he has to clench his hand into a fist against his mouth to keep from gasping audibly. "I know you were calling just to make sure I'm okay."

 

"No, I'm a lot more selfish than that," Mario admits finally, trying to keep a steady voice. "I wanted to make sure I'm okay."

 

"So you called me?"

 

"You make me okay." He's got nothing left to lose, he might as well be honest here. "Or you used to."

 

"Why do you have a bandage wrapped around your leg?" Marco asks, changing the subject so fast it nearly gives Mario whiplash.

 

"What?"

 

"I saw a few pictures of you on the bench at the game. Is your thigh okay?"

 

"I don't know." He picks at the frayed edges of the bandage, unsure of what else to say. It seems that everything he says only makes it worse. "I miss you," he admits, his voice breaking a little, the confession catching even him off guard. He feels his heart contracting in his chest and his lungs seizing painfully. He wants to tell him so much more though, tell him he loves him, shout that it doesn't have to be this way. "I-"

 

"Look, Mario, thank you for calling, but I really need to go. Pierre and Ilkay are here and I need to get back to them. Illy's a mess and-"

 

"Yeah," Mario agrees, nodding at no one again, the reminder that Marco has other people now a fresh wound in his chest. "I wish it doesn't have to be this way."

 

"Maybe one day it won't," Marco whispers and Mario feels a slight tremor run through him again. This is all he can ask for. "Bye Mario."

 

He can't bring himself to say goodbye back, doesn't want to.

 

"See you at the pokal in a few weeks," he mumbles instead before the lines goes dead.

 

Thomas finds him a few minutes later, still standing there on the street, staring off into space. He smiles weakly at him before the tall boy helps him into the lobby, and Mario can't do anything but sigh in relief when he finally takes the weight off his leg.

 

He's turning fitfully in his bed hours later when his phone chimes in a text. 

 

**_From: Marco_**

_I miss you too. Maybe don't wait so long to call next time._

 

Mario stares at the phone for a lot longer than socially acceptable, feels himself really smile for the first time in a really long time. It takes him minutes to fall asleep after that.


End file.
